


Specimen 204

by xshinanix



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Love Triangles, Science Experiments
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-23
Updated: 2020-03-18
Packaged: 2020-11-02 12:44:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20751011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xshinanix/pseuds/xshinanix
Summary: Two years after the breach that ended her father's life, Bulma Briefs begins work for the Specimen Foundation--a government organization that researches supernatural, paranormal, and extraterrestrial anomalies found on Earth. Unlike most fresh faces, Bulma is tasked with researching the most dangerous and risky Specimen at the Foundation.Specimen 204.





	1. Chapter 1

He huffed and puffed as he ran down one of the long, darkened corridors of the facility. ID in hand, he desperately went from section to section trying to find a way out that wasn’t blocked off or didn’t have signs of nearby Specimens. On occasion, he’d look at all the doors he’d pass and debate ducking in to wait for the containment team. 

But hiding was his last resort. He remembered that from the training he had done when he first came to the organization almost twenty years ago. You had a higher risk of dying if you were to hide. Escape was the only safe option.

He was tired. How long had he been running around for? Five minutes? Twenty? An hour? He wasn’t quite sure. Amongst all his running, he had lost his watch. And no one in the building was allowed to carry cellphones no matter your ranking.

Exhausted, the man decided to stow away in one of the supply rooms nearby. He slumped down onto one of the wooden boxes, pulling out his handkerchief to wipe the sweat from his brow. As more and more damage was done by the rouge Specimen, the hotter it got within the building. If he had a betting man, he would have to say the cooling units had been destroyed.

The room wasn’t all bad. The alarms that screeched constantly were muted by the thick walls, and the flashing red lights in each hallway wasn’t visible behind the door. He felt safer inside than he did out. The only way into the room was through a door that required a high-level keycard like his own. Even if the Specimens could get ahold of one, the chances of it being able to open the door were unlikely.

“Attention all remaining personnel.” The intercom crackled to life. He perked up instantly, his eyes staring at the speaker in the room with a glimpse of hope in his heart. “The containment team has been released within the building. Remember to lay on the ground on your stomach when you see them. This is to ensure that a Specimen hasn’t taken control. This message will now repeat…”

Relief washed over him at the words, a smile cracking on his face. If the containment team was coming, then he could just stay put in this room until they arrive. It went against all the training he was taught, but his judgment told him it was better off this way.

That was until he heard the click of the door accepting a swipe and then the swoosh of the automatic opening mechanism.

* * *

There was a pit in her stomach. A pit big enough to bury her anxieties in. She hadn’t stepped into the facility ever since they held the memorial service. The one where dozens of families gathered to mourn the ones they lost during the breach only a few short years ago.

Even then, she had never been this deep into the concrete and steel prison. As soon as she arrived, a man dressed in all black had to lead her down the brightly lit hallways to the blank room she now sat in. The stark white of the walls, floors, and ceilings was nearly burning her blue eyes. So she stared at the red paint on her fingernails, fiddling with her hands to occupy her mind away from the dreary thoughts. She didn’t know how long she had been sitting in there when the door opened. 

Bulma sat up immediately and smoothed out her skirt with a smile. The man who entered the room was one she had seen before. He had been one of the keynote speakers at the memorial service, sharing his condolences to the families and friends who lost their loved ones. She couldn’t remember his name, but she did remember that he was the replacement for her father’s position as head scientist.

“Hello. I’m Dr. Jackson, head scientist here.” He smiled back at her, extending his hand out to here. “You’re Dr. Briefs I presume?”

“Just Bulma’s fine.” She shook his hand, her smile fading. “Dr. Briefs was my father.”

“Ah, yes! I thought the name sounded familiar.” Dr. Jackson adjusted his glasses, his own smile being wiped up. “My deepest apologies for his-”

“It’s alright. I’m...over it now.” She took a slow inhale, trying to ease her stomach.

“Well, let’s get started then.” He set down the manilla folder that was in his hands, walking over to one of the walls and pulling down a projector screen. “That folder is yours. I suggest flipping through it while I go over some key information.”

Bulma took a seat and nodded her head, reaching over the table to drag the folder in front of her. She was met with “DANGEROUS” stamped on the front in bright red, the tab labeling the folder as “Specimen 204”.

“Typically new employees aren’t given Specimens of this ranking, but your resume impressed us.” Jackson dimmed the lights, the projector coming to life.

She was met with a basic information sheet at first, a picture of the human-like creature in the top left corner. Skimming through, she saw that there was little information that wasn’t redacted in some way.

“Specimen 204 is a special case. It’s sentient and dangerous.” He clicked through his slideshow of pictures showcasing the damage the creature was able to inflict. “It seems to understand our language but refuses to speak. It’s only spoken when there are no recording devices around and, as you can see from the logs, only threatens or insults the researcher.”

“He looks rather human to me.” Bulma spoke and flipped through some more of the papers, seeing more and more pictures. “Well, besides the tail.”

“We’re unsure if it actually looks that way or shapeshifted to match us when it first arrived.”

“And ‘it’ arrived when?”

“That’s classified.”

“Of course.” Bulma took a breath and closed her folder, folding her hands on top of it. “What is it that you want me to do exactly?”

Dr. Jackson turned off the projector and switched the lights on, sitting down in the chair across from her. “Research of course.” He smiled and folded his arms on the table. “More specifically we’re looking for someone willing to handle and work around Specimen 204 to answer some of our most profound questions on it.”

“Which would be what exactly?” She tilted her head, cocking a brow.

“Its origins, biology...anatomy...” Jackson cleared his throat. “Whatever information you can conclude from studying it. We know very little. Even your father wasn’t able to gather enough information, and he was the best damn scientist this organization has seen in years.”

“I’ve heard that once or twice before.” She flashed a smile and then cleared her throat. “If he’s so dangerous, then how am I supposed to get close enough to him to determine any of this?”

“That’s for you to figure out. Of course, you’ll have full access to any and all resources you’d possibly ever need. Including unlimited Class D’s.”

“Class...D?”

“They’re like our guinea pigs. Typically they’re convicts with long sentences or criminals on death row. Sometimes they’re volunteers who don’t care about life.”

“So they’re people?” Bulma’s eyes widened. “Isn’t that a little...cruel?”

“We like to think of it as beneficial to society. They can rot in prison for the rest of their lives or they can die doing something for science.” Dr. Jackson smiled. “It’s better if you don’t bring morals into it when talking about the D’s.”

Bulma shifted uncomfortably in her chair and took a breath, fighting back the urge to snap. “Right.”

“So...what’s the answer? Are you in?”

She glanced over him and then down to the folder in front of her. She could say no. Say no to this whole thing. But what would happen to her then? Would they wipe her memory for wanting to step away? Or would they make her a Class D?

A shiver ran down her spine. She didn’t want to find out.

“I’m in.”

* * *

“On your feet, maggot!” 

The loud shout was accompanied by banging on his cell door. Yamcha woke up with a start, sitting up and rubbing at one of his eyes with a yawn. “Gimme a sec.”

“You don’t get ‘secs’. Hurry up or you’ll end up being 460’s lunch!” The officer commanded, banging against his door once more.

Yamcha flinched and stood up, quickly getting dressed in his orange jumpsuit. Once ready, he stood in front of the door and slipped his hands through the slot of the door. The officer placed a pair of cold handcuffs on his wrists, making them nearly tight enough to cut off his circulation.

When the doors slid open, the two officers pointed their guns at him, ready to “eliminate” him if he were to step out of line. Yamcha took a breath and stepped out slowly, watching them and waiting for his instructions.

“Follow Officer Harris. If you try anything-”

“I’ll get shot.” Yamcha finished for him with a sigh, turning to follow the other officer. “This isn’t my first rodeo.”

He felt the glare from the officer behind him, nearly feeling the tip of his gun against his back. He had quickly learned that wit wasn’t a reason for elimination in this place. In fact, some of the officers enjoyed the banter with them. Others enjoyed beating them senseless for biting back.

It went without saying that he had his fair share of beatings.

He was lead down hall after hall of the facility, making too many turns that he was sure he would never be able to find his own way back. He also wasn’t convinced that Officer Harris knew exactly where he was going. That was until they came to the gate that lead to the heavy containment part of the facility. 

Yamcha stopped in his stride and stared up at the large gates, face contouring. They were joking about him being lunch, weren’t they?

“Is there a problem, 0107?”

He took a breath and looked to the officer behind him, smiling. “Of course not. Just reading the sign.”

“Then keep walking.” 

He nodded and looked forward, rolling his eyes when he was sure he wasn’t being watched. He continued to follow Officer Harris, flinching occasionally at the sounds of distant screams. Some of them not even human.

They stopped in front of the large door that lead into Specimen 204’s holding area, a lump forming in his throat. He had only been at the facility six months yet he knew the stories behind the monster they kept caged. Specifically the amount of Class D that had fallen victim to his harmful blasts of pure energy.

“Welcome to your new job, 0107.” The officer had a smile in his voice, a chuckle coming from the back of his throat. “What? You don’t wanna play with it? It wants to play with you.”

“That’s enough.”

Yamcha looked to his side towards the new, feminine voice. Standing with her hands on her hips was a blue-haired woman. He looked her over, his eyes landing on her ID badge. He squinted his eyes and was able to read the name “Dr. Bulma Briefs”. 

“You two can leave now. I’ll handle the rest.” 

“Sorry, ma’am, but we’re not allowed to do that.” 

Bulma wrinkled her nose and narrowed her eyes, crossing her arms in stately stance. “And why not?”

“He’s a murderer. It would be unwise to leave him with someone unarmed.”

“I can take care of myself.” She snapped back and nodded at him. “Follow me.”

Yamcha stood in place at first, looking between his two escorts. Was he...allowed? Then, when she looked back at him, her gaze gave him a sense of authority. He swallowed and followed his orders.


	2. Chapter 2

They had called him a murderer but the man before her didn’t look like one. Maybe some type of criminal--a thug or bandit--but never a murderer. His face was too soft. His eyes were too kind. His hands didn’t look capable of doing such a heinous crime. But she couldn’t be too careful.

She had lead him a small room that branched off of Specimen 204’s observation room. It was the same stark white as the rest of the rooms. In the middle was a cold, metal table with two chairs that felt extremely uncomfortable. She prayed that her office was much nicer.

Bulma cleared her throat and clicked her pen. “What’s your name?’

The man in front of her raised his brow. “They call me 010-”

“Your name.” She interrupted him, brows furrowed. “Not your identification number.”

He was taken aback, his brows furrowed into a look of confusion. “My...name?”

“Are you deaf?” She sighed and rubbed her temple. “Yes, your name. The one that was given to you by your mother.”

He shifted in his seat. “It’s...Yamcha.”

“Yamcha?” She scribbled it down, making note of his hesitation. “How long have you been here, Yamcha?”

“What is this? Some kind of therapy session?” He chuckled.

“Do you want it to be?” She asked with a tilt in her head.

Yamcha opened his mouth to answer, but quickly bit back his tongue. He stayed silent for a few seconds before sighing. “Six months I think. I’m not sure. They don’t really tell you anything here.”

She frowned and leaned forward. “What the last day you remember?”

“March 21.” He answered quickly, looking down at his hands. “The day after my birthday.”

She paused before answering. “It’s almost been seven.”

Yamcha tensed and shifted. “Oh…”

Bulma remained quiet, making some quick notes. He had been here since March. Since the weather was getting warmer and the flowers were starting to bloom. Now the wind blows cold and the flowers are gone. And he didn’t know any better.

“Tell me something interesting about you.” She spoke after a long time, staring at her pen as she tapped it against her notebook. “Something that no one in here knows.”

He didn’t answer for a while. And she didn’t look at him. She was afraid she had upset him before he finally spoke. “I used to play baseball.”

She looked up at him. He was sitting back in his chair, arms held up awkwardly due to his cuffs He was staring at her with a soft look, his jaw loose and his shoulders lax. It felt intense.

“What position?”

“Wherever they needed me.”

Bulma nodded and scribbled down more notes. “They said you were a murderer.” She brought up, her stomach doing flips as she watched him. “Are you a murderer?”

She didn’t know what answer she wanted to hear. On one hand, she would be sitting in a room with a murderer. Sitting with someone who had willingly taken the life of someone else. But, on the other, she was with an innocent man who was doomed to a fate worse than death.

“That’s what they say.” He answered with a smirk, clearing his throat. “Did you call me down here to only talk to me?”

Bulma sat up straight and shook her head. “Of course not.” She cleared her throat. “Can you tell me what you know about Specimen 204?”

“As much as anyone else I suppose.” Yamcha shrugged. “He’s caused a lot of breaches.”

Bulma flinched. “Thankfully there hasn’t been one in two years.” She commented. “Have you ever worked with him?”

“I’m still here, aren’t I?” She narrowed her eyes at him. “No, I haven’t. But I’ve known people who have.”

“Oh!” She leaned forward, a smile on her face. “Can you tell me their names? Or their identification numbers?”

“...” He shifted and cleared his throat, looking down. “They’re...gone.”

Her smile faded, and she fell back into her chair, shrinking down. “I’m sorry.”

“Eh, it’s fine. I barely knew them anyway.” He shrugged.

She took a deep breath and stood up, digging in her pockets for the keys the guard had handed her. “Aha!” She exclaimed when she found them, holding them up. “How about we get you out of those cuffs and get to work?”

* * *

His knuckles hurt from the impact, the steel creaking from the force from his punches. He had grown soft over the years, not being able to fully train without any equipment or with the low gravity of this damn planet. Before he came here, these punches wouldn’t have phased him at all.

How long had he been here? How long ago was the damned day that had him trained to be a plaything for these inferior beings? It couldn’t have been that long, right? There had been little to no change to his appearance.

Vegeta wanted to get out of here. And desperately. His last attempt had ended in him being gassed down and dragged back into this room with tougher defenses. If he had to guess, he’d say that the walls were several meters thick of steel or some other strong metal. They had also grown much smarter from his last attempt, doing something to him that suppressed his ability to fire off Ki.

He growled and threw another punch at the wall, feeling the slick wet of his own blood against his palm. The pain was a reminder to him that he was still alive. That his heart was still beating. That he was still trapped in this purgatory. 

Before he could throw his next punch, the speaker in the cell crackled to life, causing him to lower his hands and look at the camera. He could hear muffled voices speaking at first, probably from whoever was there not talking directly into the mic. And then he heard her.

“Can you hear me, 204?”

It was the first time since he had been here that he had heard a woman speak to him. Her voice was soft and gentle, giving him a sense of informality. The men who had spoken to him before had always spoken in tones that gave off stiff formality, speaking with elevated jargon that he couldn’t understand.

“How are you feeling today?”

She wanted to know how he felt? He felt angry. He felt trapped. He felt mistreated.

He scoffed at her question and went back to his punches, flinching at each impact his knuckles made with the steel. He hadn’t even noticed the blood that now stained the grey.

“Are you okay?”

He huffed at her voice, but didn’t respond. He didn’t want to talk to her. She was no different than the other scientists that had experimented on him.

“You’re hurting yourself. You should stop.”

He didn’t answer.

“Doesn’t that hurt? You’re bleeding.”

Gritting his teeth, he stopped his punches and stared up at the camera, his eyes shooting daggers at the lens. “Shut up, you insufferable woman!” He snapped at her.

The static from the speakers turned off after he spoke. He grinned to himself and went back to punches. After a few moments, the speakers came back to life. He groaned and looked back at the lens. “I told you-”

“Don’t talk to me like that.”

He raised a brow. She sounded upset. Or angry. If he was a betting man, he would say she was definitely angry.

“I know about the things you’ve said to the other scientists. I’ve read a very thorough report on your behavior.” Her tone had shifted to be more formal. “I can tell you now that your time with me will be distasteful if you speak to me like that again.”

He tilted his head. “And why’s that?”

“I’m not afraid of you.”


	3. Chapter 3

She was the kindest person he had ever met in this hellhole. The other scientists had treated him like trash. As if he were less than human. They would yell at him. Scream at him for doing something wrong. Throw things at him. One had even spat at him at one point.

But she hadn’t done those things. There were a few times he had made mistakes. He would put something somewhere she didn’t want. Or he would write something wrong. But she didn’t get angry. She politely corrected him with a smile before going on with her own work.

She even learned his name. Something he didn’t realize was a privilege before coming here.

Her kindness and praise drove him harder than any punishment had ever. Currently, he was watching the screen that peered into Specimen 204’s containment cell, taking note of every time he changed what he was doing. It wasn’t as entertaining as he had hoped, but it was much safer than some of the tasks other scientists had made him do.

He glanced over to the door to his left, seeing her sitting in her undecorated office. Her face was crinkled up as her eyes scanned over the computer screen, her hand occasionally writing something down in frustration. 

“You okay?” He spoke up. He never in a million years would have spoken to a superior so casually, but she was so easy to talk to.

Bulma jumped from his sudden voice, sitting up straight. Her eyes went to meet his, a soft blush on her features. “Oh! Yeah. I’m fine…” She looked down at her notes, frowning. “I’m just trying to look into 204 and all I’m finding is redacted information.”

“Re...dacted?” He raised a brow.

“You don’t know what that means?” She looked back up at him with a tilt in her head. “It’s like...taking something out that’s classified. It’s a way to hide information.”

“They’re hiding information from you?”

“I guess they are.” She sighed and rubbed her temple. “I’ll probably ask Jackson about it tomorrow. I  _ should _ be getting full access to these documents, but the system still says I’m a level two when I should have level four.”

Yamcha flinched at the mention of Dr. Jackson and nodded his head, pretending he understood what she was saying. “That sounds...painful.”

“It really is.” She said and sat back in her chair, arms crossed with a groan. “I get that it’s my first day, but come on. This should have been dealt with if they knew where they wanted me.”

He was taken aback. “It’s your first day?”

“Did I not tell you?” She tilted her head. “Today is my first day at the Foundation. Not just with Specimen 204.”

His jaw dropped. Her first day and she was working with such a dangerous creature? Did she request to have this workload? Or did the Foundation want her dead?

“I know it’s uncommon for new employees of the Foundation to be placed in charge of such classified research.” She looked down at her notes, tapping her pen against the paper. “My father worked on the Foundation before his death. Even though he wasn’t allowed to talk about his work with us, I know very vague details about the hierarchy of the Foundation.” She sunk into her chair. “I don’t know everything though. I mean, I learned what Class D’s were just today…”

Yamcha felt a lump forming in his throat. He was suddenly reminded of his status amongst the Foundation. She had made him forget he was beneath her. Beneath even the monsters that set behind the steel and glass. He was beneath the garbage in the dumpster. At least they got proper burials.

He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, the doors to their area opened. In walked the same two officers from before, their guns pointed towards the floor. Officer Harris looked confused for a moment, but the other had a stoic face.

“He survived?” He huffed. “That’s a first.”

Bulma stood from her desk and placed her hands in the pockets of her labcoat, a smile on her face. “Ah! Officer Harris! Officer Schmitt! It’s good to see you again.”

“You never called for us. We were told to come check on him.” Officer Schmitt nodded his head towards Yamcha. “You do know they’re only allowed out for a few hours at a time.”

“Has it really been three hours already?” She placed a hand on her cheek, sheepishly grinning at them. “I guess I lose track of time!”

“It’s been nearly your entire nine hour shift. You just lost track of time?”

“It happens.” She spoke and cleared her throat, folding her hands behind her back. “As you said, my shift is almost over, so you can take Yam-um, 0107 back to his cell.” She looked at him, her brows furrowed. “I want him back with me tomorrow.”

“Then put in a request for him.” Harris gritted his teeth. “We don’t choose who goes where.”

“Of course.” She bowed her head. “I apologize for the inconveniences I may have caused you.”

“On your feet, 0107.” Schmitt didn’t break his intense eye contact with Bulma, his expression completely blank.

Yamcha followed his orders and stood, holding his hands out to be handcuffed. Harris speak forward and tightly secured him, tugging on the chain just to make sure he couldn’t get free. Yamcha winced at the pain. 

“See you tomorrow, boys!” Bulma gave a wave to the guards as they left, giving Yamcha what felt like a sad smile.

* * *

Her feet ached as she walked through the door of her Foundation provided home, sliding off the small heels she had been wearing all day. She slumped her shoulders and released a deep breath, throwing off her labcoat and letting it fall on the floor.

She took one step inside her home and paused, sighing. She had forgotten that the movers had simply placed her boxes in their respective places, stacking them neatly out of the way. Thankfully for her, the Foundation homes provided the basic necessities.

Bulma elected to ignore the boxes for now, waving them off as she walked into her small kitchen. She opened the cabinets and smiled at the fully stocked shelves. The Foundation had claimed they keep the homes stocked with food that the residents request, but she thought it was too good to be true.

She closed the cabinets and opened the freezer, grabbing a frozen meal she had requested. She put it into the microwave and stretched up, trying to work the knots out of her muscles.

When her meal was finished, she walked into her living room and sat down on the small couch, sitting criss cross. She ate in silence, looking around as she mentally tried to decorate the home the way she wanted. As she was taking a bite, her phone rang from inside the kitchen.

Bulma hopped up and sat her food down, picking up the phone. “Hello?”

“Bulma?” It was her mother’s voice. “Did I get the number right?”

“Yeah! It’s me, Mom.” She smiled and grabbed her meal, walking back to sit on the couch. “Whatcha need?”

“Oh, I was just calling to check on you, honey. And to make sure I had the right number.”

“Gotcha.” She said and took another bite, chewing slowly and holding the phone with her shoulder.

“How was your first day? Was there a lot of paperwork?”

“It was okay. I got my first assignment.” She frowned. She wanted to tell her mother all the details about her day. But she had signed a contract against telling anyone any classified information. “As for paperwork, there was some, but not a whole lot.”

“Are there any cute guys?”

“Mom!” Bulma was taken aback by the question, switching the phone to her other shoulder. “I don’t know. I don’t really work with anyone right now.”

“What a shame…” Her mother paused. “I worry about you.”

“Worry? Why?”

“You’ve been so focused on your education recently. You’re never gonna meet someone if that’s how you spend your time.”

“There’s more to life than romance, Mom.” She rolled her eyes.

“Oh, remember when you were younger and that’s all you thought about?”

“Yeah, when I was like..sixteen or something. I’m much more mature now.” Bulma finished her food and brought it to the kitchen, throwing away her trash. “I don’t think meeting someone at the Foundation would be a wise move.”

“...I’m also worried about you because of this job.”

“Really?”

“I mean...your father was in that accident two years ago. I’m afraid that something like that will happen to you, too.”

“Don’t worry about me, Mom.” Bulma leaned against the counter. “They’re beefed up a whole bunch of procedure. Something like that is a lot less likely to happen now.”

“But it could still happen.” She could hear the worry in her mother’s voice. “I just don’t want to step foot in that building for another memorial. I’m surprised you could.”

Bulma frowned and looked at the floor, poking the tiles with her toes. “Yeah, but the Foundation pays good and has so many benefits. It would have been stupid for me not to accept their offer.”

“I know, honey. Oh! I gotta go! Poor, old Scratch just threw up on the carpet!”

“Poor baby.” Bulma rolled her eyes. “I’ll let you go then. By-”

Before Bulma could finish what she was saying, her mother hung up on her. She took a breath and exhaled, placing her phone back onto his hook.

She went straight for her bathroom, digging amongst the boxes for her toiletries before turning on the water and stripping down. She stepped into the water and felt her entire body untense, letting out a breath of relief as she just let go.

As her mind was let less, she found herself going back to Specimen 204. He had been punching at the steel walls enough for his knuckles to bleed. There was no way he hadn’t been in some sort of pain because of it. Why would he be doing that?

His movements had looked so fluid. He looked well trained, being loose and tight in all the right places. If he was in pain, she couldn’t pick it up on the cameras at all. Either he didn’t feel the pain or he was trained to not show it.

And then there was Yamcha. He didn’t seem like a murderer to her. He seemed almost...too dumb to be one. Whenever she would praise him, he would perk up, a light shining from somewhere in his eyes. Had he not been used to positive reinforcement?

She couldn’t help but feel bad for him. He had been trapped with no sun for nearly seven months. How he hadn’t driven himself mad was beyond her. She couldn’t imagine being stuck in that place all day every day for that amount of time. Just the nine hour shift was enough to suffocate her.

When she finished up with her shower, she slipped on her plush, baby pink robe, letting herself enjoy the soft feeling. It was a stark contrast to her stiff and harsh business clothes. She wished all clothes were this soft.

Bulma stepped into her small bedroom, letting out a sigh of relief as she saw that the home came with a bedspread. Pulling back the covers, she noticed the itchy fabric, wrinkling her nose as she crawled into bed. Despite her distaste for the material, she was too exhausted to hunt for her own sheets.

Soon the feel of the material faded away as her mind slipped into slumber.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys! I don't really leave a whole lot of author's notes on this fic, but I just wanted to pop in and say thank you so much for all the support you've given me on this fic! It means a whole lot to me <3
> 
> I also want to let you guys know that I have a Twitter where I post about my fanfics on! It's @xshinanix and here you can see updates about when I'm going to be writing and you can even influence what I'm going to be writing through polls. I also have writing commissions open, so if there's something you want to see written in my style, you can hit me up there for one!
> 
> Once again, thanks so much for reading! I hope you enjoy this chapter (even if it's a little short OOPS)

_ Her father had always valued education. He had preached to her from a young age that she was intelligent and determined enough to do whatever her heart yearned for her to do. She graduated from high school with an honor’s diploma and several awards for academics. She graduated with her bachelor’s in a little over three years. She had applied to graduate school at the highest rated university in the world. All because her father had pushed her to be the best version of herself. _

_ She had gotten her acceptance letter the morning after the breach. She should have been ecstatic. She should have been out that night celebrating with her friends. But instead she and her family huddled on the living room floor in tears, holding onto each other as their brains tried to rack with the idea that their father wasn’t going to walk through the door. _

_ The happiness that came with her letter lasted a mere five seconds at most. Some wackos may have taken it as a sign that her father’s spirit was with her. But she knew that wasn’t logical. If there was a god above, He was playing a cruel joke on her. _

_ Bulma remembered the memorial service vividly. It had been the first time they were allowed to set foot inside the building. Of course, the facility was heavily guarded. They told them it was because of the vast amount of guests. But she knew deep down it was because they were unsure of the group’s safety. _

_ Her older sister hadn’t gone with them. The weight and pain of losing their father had made it nearly impossible for Tights to get out of bed. Her sister hardly ate or did anything at all. The most activity Bulma had seen from her was her mother forcing Tights to be at the table for dinner like normal. _

_ Bulma understood how Tights felt. Nothing felt normal. _

_ She sat down in one of the many uncomfortable, metal chairs that sat in rows in a large hall. They had been escorted to their seats towards the front. They told them that seats were randomly assigned, but looking around told her that the more important your family member was, the more forward you sat. _

_ “I’m going to find a bathroom, dear. Hold my purse.” Panchy spoke softly, setting her purse into Bulma’s lap before the woman could protest. _

_ She sighed and sunk down into her seat, her eyes scanning the multiple of flags set up on stage. In the middle of the stage was a large screen with the faces of the “lost” projected on it. There were dozens--no hundreds of faces. But she couldn’t read any of the names, her eyes squinting.  _

_ From behind her, there was a loud bang. She quickly looked towards the noise, a confused look spreading across her face. The room that was just filled to the brim with people was completely empty, the sound of soft chatter disappearing as fast as they had.  _

_ She felt the weight of her mother’s purse leave her lap, her head darting around to make sure no one had taken it. But the scene around her had changed once more. She blinked and looked around the dark home. She couldn’t place the home anywhere in her memories except for one. _

_ There was a chatter from another room. She swallowed and sat up from her now plush chair. She nearly jumped and looked down, seeing that she was completely barefoot and wearing a white, flowy gown. Her hair, getting in her face, was no longer pulled back into its ponytail. _

_ Bulma’s heart raced as she slowly forced her legs to move forward toward the other room. When she walked through the entrance, she was in a large, long hall with dim candles lighting the way to the front where bright light was illuminating a box. At the front of the room, she saw a group of people all talking and looking down. _

_ She shook her head and pulled at her hair, gritting her teeth. “Wake up, wake up, wake up…” She pleaded to her consciousness, trying to break away from this dreamscape. When it didn’t work, she growled and looked forward, seeing that the front of the room had gotten closer. _

_ She crossed her arms under her chest, her hands cupping her elbows as she walked forward. It was only a few steps until she had to start weaving between people. _

_ “She was so young.” _

_ “She should have known better. That place is a death trap!” _

_ “Just like her father…” _

_ “Her poor mother.” _

_ Bulma felt her stomach churn with every sentence, the lump in her throat growing as she neared the front of the room. Sitting in two chairs next to the open coffin was her mother and sister. Her mother was crying hysterically, wiping her tears away with a white handkerchief. Tights had her arm around their mother, comforting her with tears in her own eyes. _

_ “Mom..?” Bulma’s voice was small. Her mother didn’t look up. “Mom!” _

_ She lunged forward and dropped to her knees in front of her mother. “Mom! It’s okay! I’m okay! I’m right here!” She reached out for her hand, but found that she went right through Panchy. _

_ She fell back from surprise, nausea falling over her as her mouth fell agape. “No, no, no…” She murmured to herself over and over again. “This isn’t right. I’m-I’m alive! Mom! I’m alive, goddamnit!” _

_ “Are you?” _

_ Looking up, she saw her father standing before her, their family cat perched on his shoulder.  _

_ “...Dad?” _

_ “Are you alive?” He repeated himself, taking a drag from his smoking pipe. “If you’re alive, then who’s that?” _

_ Bulma furrowed her brows and tilted her head, slowly getting up from her place on the floor. She didn’t break her eye contact until she was fully standing, her eyes slowly turning towards the coffin with a gasp. _

Her eyes opened abruptly to the sound of her alarm. Groaning, the woman reached forward and turned it off, sitting up and pulling her rope closed.

Bulma placed a hand on her cheek, feeling a dampness against her skin. She wiped it away and shook her head. “I need coffee…”

* * *

The sound of metal clunking and creaking in his cell woke him up. He lifted his head enough to see over his shoulder, watching as the humans lowered what looked to be a cylinder of padding into his cell. Curious, he sat up, placing his hands in his lap as he watched them, a slight tilt in his head.

“Well, good morning, 204!” The damned woman’s voice came over the intercom again, making him growl lowly in frustration. 

“What are you doing?” Vegeta crossed his arms, leaning back against the wall that his cot was pushed against.

“After your little self-harming fiasco you had going on yesterday, I’ve decided to give you something you can punch and not hurt yourself while doing it!” There was an excitement in her tone, he raised a brow. 

“Why?”

“Take it as a symbol of good intentions.” She started. He could hear the smile in her voice. “There are plenty of other privileges like these we can give you, too. Of course, you’ll have to cooperate with me to get them.”

Vegeta huffed. “I’m not going to cooperate with a low level like you.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. You see I have level four clearance whereas you don’t, seeing as you’re one of the specimens and not an actual employee.” She cleared her throat. “And you kind of have to cooperate with me. Regardless of how you think things run here. I can take away things from you just as fast as I can give them to you.”

“Take what? This punching device?” He waved a hand and rolled his head. “Go ahead. I don’t need it.”

There was silence for a few seconds. He smirked in victory until she spoke again.

“Alright. Fine. We’ll take away the punching bag. And while we’re at it, let’s take away your cot. And if that still doesn’t satisfy you, I can take away your lights and leave you in the dark for days!”

Vegeta’s smirk faded when she spoke. He couldn’t be in the dark again.

He growled and swore under his breath. “Fine! What do you want from me, woman?!”

“That’s much better.”


End file.
